First, then you
by PersephoneQ
Summary: That's how it had always been. When you're twins, its always, "First, the you." Never both. Just first and second. For once, I want to be first. AU.


I can't help but see the irony of me, Matthew T. Williams, sneaking into my boyfriends room like a criminal. I can still remember how many times he would do this after a long night of work or partying. Sometimes he would shake me awake, telling me there was someone in the kitchen or he'd wake me up via putting something cold to my neck and telling me to stay quiet in a deep voice. This would always give me a start, scare me, and he would laugh while I ridiculed him about it, telling him that I'll be happy when he finally turns nine and grows up. He would then pout, looking angry and slightly confused, telling me he was two years older than me, thank you very much and I would tell him to go to bed. Just as we were both on the verge of sleep, I would whisper to him that, yes, he may be twenty six, but mentally he was still seven. In the morning he would attempt to make me breakfast to show me how mature he really was. Attempt being the key word there.

But then there would be times that I was online or reading or writing a report and hear the door open and close. It would immediately put whatever it was down in my lap and close my eyes, pretending to have fallen asleep while working. He would come in, see me like this and chuckle quietly to himself, muttering things like, "my Birdie, always the workaholic" or "one day, he's gonna work himself to death". Then he'd put whatever I was working on on the bedside table and pull the covers over me. Then he'd take off my glasses and kiss my cheek and wish me good dreams. It was always such a sweet surprise, but it was only one of the things I'll miss about him.

I stand at the door, watching my boyfriend sleep for what will be the last time, and I smile. He's laying on his back on the side closest to the door, one arm thrown lazily over the edge of the bed, the other above his head. He's snoring, but not loudly and he had a little bit of drool leaking out of his mouth. I laugh lightly, reaching over to wipe it away. I cup the side of his face under his chin, running my finger over his cheek. He smiles and leans into the caress unconsciously. For once his blood red eyes are shut and he's silent and still except for the occasional move of his chest while breathing.

I walk to the other side of the bed and climb in, snuggling into his side, wrapping my arms around him. He smiles and does the same, resting his head in my hair in his sleep. I smile sadly, knowing that this will be the last time I get to cuddle with him like this. I repressed tears by catching my bottom lip in between my teeth and biting down until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the medical syringe my boss had given me. It was in a metal box, already filled with the poison- cyanide, as I didn't want to see him suffer for so long.  
>I stuck the needle into his arm, waiting a few minutes until it took affect before removing it. I held him in my arms as he convulsed and shook. I sat up, pulling him up as well, wrapping him in my arms. I put his head on my shoulder, patting his back and rocking him back and forth, shushing and letting the tears flow freely now.<p>

He should have been beyond words now-heck, he should have been beyond numbness as well. I had seen cyanide in action before and while it was nearly painless, it killed in less than thirty minutes, which is why I chose it. Anyway, even though that should have been the case, he spoke to me. His last words, really.

"Don't cry, Birdie...You'll get my shirt wet."

I stare at him, surprised. He is still beyond moving, so I lift him off my shoulder. Even though his lips have not moved from the frown they held, his eyes speak levels of understanding and unconditional love that makes me break down in his arms.

"I guess I'll just have to wash it then, won't I?", I say clenching and unclenching my hands in his shirt. I hear him do that hiss like laugh of his, though it is faint. I grab his hand and put it on my cheek. I smile at him and through my tears I can see him attempt one as well, but it looks more like a smirk.

Slowly, the fire in those maroon irises faded and the pale complexion of the man deepens. He slumped forward, landing in my arms. I lifted his face to find that the light traces of a smirk still resided on his face. The feature was befitting of him and makes me smile. Fitting that he would die with a smirk on his face.

* * *

><p>I was still laying in bed with the corpse of my newly deceased boyfriend an hour later. I was tired, but I knew I had a lot of work to do. I didn't have enough to time to mourn him like he deserved to be. I laid him back down, yanking the covers out from under him and covering him up, closing his eyes. I smile at him; it was almost like the last two hours didn't even happen.<p>

I headed into our small bathroom, grabbing all the necessary supplies hidden in the cupboard under the sink. By the time I was done, the counter was covered in bottles and bags of various things I was "assigned".

God, I hate my work.

I wash my hair, working the die in and changing my normally dirty blond hair to a bleach white. I cut it to the specific lengths of his hair. I took off my glasses and put in the contacts, blinking and getting used to the feeling of having them in. I opened every bag grudgingly, following all the steps I was given by my boss. The tears that were threateningly hiding just behind my eyelids were kept at bay by the thought that the hardest part was already over.

Boy, was I wrong.

When I was done, I finally took the initiative to look in the bathroom mirror. Suddenly, I was struck by the reoccurring despair that seemed to always be waiting for me, no matter where I went or what I did. I broke down into tears, collapsing on the bathroom floor, my vision flooded by tears and the memories of my boyfriend and _that person_. I was probably laying on the floor in a ball for over half an hour, sobbing and randomly hitting things, cursing my boss, my job, my life, and, above all, _that person_. When I finally got up, I was smiling grimly. Yes, there was no reason to blame myself for this. No, not when _that person_ still exists. Its all _his_ fault. _Him_. The bane of my existence, living only to contradict me, hurt me, cut me in every way possible, then just sit back and watch me bleed.

Its funny in a morbid sort of way. Because, once upon a time, we had done just that, only together, over a few bears and the money we had made on that particular job.

Back to the present, I looked at my reflection again. A perfect copy. I smirked, wrapping my arms around myself, and began laughing madly. I leaned against the wall for support as the laughter became uncontrollable. I felt yet more tears run down my face, but these were tears of madness. Of finally breaking.

I was no longer Matthew Williams, though, really, I had stopped being Matthew Williams, the good boy with an angel's smile, so long ago I couldn't remember. Or, maybe, I had never been Matthew Williams? But then, what was I? Who knows. All I knew was that, now I was Gilbert Beilschemidt, member of the East Mafia, less than loyal brother to one Ludwig Beilschemidt, leader of the West Mafia.

I smirked. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

* * *

><p>(AN): Oh. My. Poland. Reference. (aka, OMPR) What is this? A Bad-Apple-Mafia-Member!Canada fic? Noes way! Yes, this is completely new (for me, at least), but it was SO much fun for me to write. Honestly, I threw fits of joy over this little baby C: I love Bad-Apple!Canada (or as some people refer to it, Snapped!Canada or Bad-A!Canada [sorry, not allowed to curse]), its so...bad! And who is this mysterious _that person_, hmm? You'll just have to tune in next time to find out, nee?

This was really supposed to be a series of story songfic type things, but i found i just didn't want that. So, instead, I will make a playlist of songs for each chap. in the story. Hope you enjoy~! For this chappie, the songs are: Killer- The Hoosiers, The Worm and the Bird- The Used, and Brick by Boring Brick- Paramore.

The order of FanFiction Court has accused you of reading this fic, and your punishment is to Rate and Review :)

As always, I wish you fun, friends, and food~!

Platonically Loving you all, Pans.


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